Easy Tonight
by Kamaka
Summary: With Ronon dead, Atlanitis is ripping at the seams. When the war torn Satedan people contact Atlantis for help, it may be the last rip the delicate fabric can stand. Sequel to Truly Madly Deeply,formerly 'Kryptonite'
1. You were wrong, you were right

Brigadier General John Sheppard stepped out of the Stargate with practiced ease. As soon as his feet touched Atlantian soil, he could breathe again. The trips to earth were nauseating at best, sickening at worst. Rubbing the back of his neck, he looked around the Gate room at the Marines.

"At ease," he said. They lowered their weapons instantly and he stepped forward. Instantly his eyes went up to see Dr. Elizabeth Weir looking down at him. Their eyes met and both looked away instantly. John closed his eyes briefly as if in pain. Elizabeth's deep green eyes had turned cold and hard, something that bothered him more than he'd admit to anyone.

Atlantis was home, but now it was a somber one. Ronon's death had left a gaping hole in the fabric of their world. He had no idea how used to the great warrior he had become until he was gone, a sentiment he was sure most of Atlantis shared.

He wanted to cry.

Really, really wanted to break down and sob. If he thought it would bring Elizabeth to him he'd do it right there, but he knew it would not and Brigadier Generals did not cry. Tugging uncomfortably at the neck of his uniform, he wished he was back in his room right then. He hated formal wear, especially when the uniform was for an occasion like the one that just happened.

He had been promoted.

It had been some attack and his anger combined with his enhanced abilities meant he had killed off the Wraith single-handedly, saved his entire team and rescued two Athosian prisoners of war. He had been summoned to SGC where a team awaited with his new rank and Champaign that tasted like poison to him. He had thrown himself through the Stargate, desperate for true emotion other than their falsehood. How could they celebrate when Ronon had been dead for less than a full month? But he had kept his emotions under control with a surprising amount of success.

"Brigadier General?" Teyla's face was plainly confused, "it sounds odd."

"Especially with my name after it," he muttered, "how are you?" he asked, concern in his eyes.

"Better," Teyla said honestly. John accepted it, even if her eyes told him differently, "how was earth?"

"Boring," he said, just as honest, "got you something," he added pulling something from his pack. He had contacted SGC with a list of things he needed. They had obliged their new Golden Boy. He offered Teyla the parcel wrapped in brown paper. She shot him a questioning look and opened it.

Inside was a leather bound journal. The leather was a deep tan, almost an exact match for Ronon's coat. For the first time in a while, Teyla did not feel her eyes well up. Her hands did shake slightly as she pulled open the inside and looked at the blank pages.

_I hate shrinks too,_

_Hope this helps_

_J.S._

Teyla smiled. It was small and timid, as if she were afraid to smile, but she did. John was proud of her and clasped her shoulder.

"Thank you," she said turning to go, book clutched to her chest, "oh do not forget to see Carson, he said he would," she paused for a moment, "'skin you alive' if you did not."

"I won't," John said walking up the stairs, his pulse pounding in his ears. He rapped on the door and heard the voice allow him to enter. Stepping inside, he was not surprised she was bent over her paper work, dead eyes taking in the information with rapidness. He knew that was a habit of hers, when something went wrong personally, she ignored it as much as possible, burying the wound. Not for the first time, John wished they hadn't Connected. He hated knowing all these things about her without her consent—without her telling him.

"Well don't you look smart Brigadier General Sheppard," she said looking up, "I assume everything went fine?"

"Yes Dr. Weir," he said stepping forward, "SGC sends it's regards."

"They relayed as much," she said leaning back in her chair, a false pose of ease, "I was unaware promotional trips require de-briefing," she added.

"They don't," he said easily matching her tone, "but can't a guy bring a present back for his boss?" The look on her face was priceless before she covered it. But he knew he had his ticket and bent down, shuffling through the backpack before extracting her present and approaching her desk, holding it tightly against his back, "pick a hand."

"Really Brigadier General—" she began.

"Maybe I shouldn't have accept the promotion," he said, "Brigadier General Sheppard is quite a mouthful."

"That was out of line," she said, her face closing off instantly. He regretted his words.

"Sorry," he said, "pick a hand."

She pursed her lips and sighed. For a minuet he thought she'd tell him to keep the gift and get the hell out, but he saw her resolve break. She pointed to his left hand and he held out the hand, waving.

"Okay okay," he said, "you can have it anyway," he produced it with a flourish. In a moment of complete weakness her jaw dropped and John had to force himself not to jump up and down with glee, instead he kept his mask of mild amusement on.

Truth be told, he had no idea what to bring back for Elizabeth. So in a moment of insanity he asked one of the SGC women what the perfect gift was. She had told him jewelry. In his hand he held a jewelry box, inside was a simple silver chain, jade stone wrought in the shape of a snowflake dangling from it.

"Thought with all the red, you could use another color," he said, eyes dancing. She shot him a look of annoyance but accepted the jewelry anyway. When she looked up, he was gone, using his speed to his advantage. She traced the stone with her fingers before closing the box with a snap.

Pulling her hand back, she looked at the piece of paper lying flat in it.

"Dr. Weir!" someone yelled into the earpiece. Elizabeth slipped it into the box and snapped it closed.

"Yes?" Elizabeth said quickly.

"You need to come to the Gate room immediately."

"On my way," she said walking out of her room. Pounding down the stairs she got to the gate room. Carson was there, a smile on his face. She shot a questioning look at Rodney who mouthed the word "Bagpipes" at her. Stifling a laugh she looked at Radek who was shifting his weight from foot to foot rather guiltily.

"What's going on?" John asked jogging into the room. Radek cleared his throat and they looked at him again.

"Uh Teyla, this is about Ronon if you want to leave—"

"I'll stay," she said quickly. He nodded.

"Okay, so, Sateda had roughly three hundred survivors," he said, "and they're coming together again to try to form a new world together—a new homeworld. Well they've asked for our help."

"What aren't you telling us?" John demanded.

"Uh well," he began, "you see—well remember how the Wraiths took Ronon? Well there's a reason for that."

"For the love of God Radek, what's going on?" Rodney demanded looking at Teyla worriedly.

"Fine! He was a Prince!" Radek yelled, "Ronon Dex—" he spun the monitor around and everyone stared. There was an older man and woman, the woman dark skin and was dressed in a gown of deep gold. Her husband was paler and dressed in deep black. Standing next to his father, a bit behind his mother, was Ronon. He looked much happier, younger and more carefree. He had his dreadlocks though, but they were shorter and pulled back, "was the first in line for the Satedan Throne."

"He was not joking when he said 'my people'," Teyla murmured softly.

"No he was not," Radek said, "and since it is confession time, I should tell you all that this message was received on behalf of the Royal Family."

"And?" John prodded.

"Royal Family," Radek said, "as in heirs, as in—"

"Contact the Satedans," Elizabeth cut him off, "was there a vid. feed?"

"Negative," he said, "verbal contact only."

"That's fine, patch it through to my office. The rest of you continue as normal. If people ask, acknowledge the fact that the Satedan's have contacted us. Nothing else. Until we know more, Ronon is still dead. Understood?"

"Yes Dr. Weir," came the responses.


	2. And you are gone, tonight

The darkness was reaching for her again. Taunting her at every turn, it threatened to pull her down. She ran from it, not figuratively but literally. It was late at night or early depending on how one looked at it, so everyone with common sense was in bed. But despite all her logic, all her training, common sense was something she had left in her office. Heart roaring in her ears, her feet slapped the ground with no regard for silence. She stopped at the end of two hallways and looked down each before running blindly down one.

Despite her better senses, she threw herself through the first door she could find and froze, pressing her back to the cold door, hand fumbling for the switch so she could throw herself back inside. But no luck, the figure on the balcony had already turned around. The waning moon had illuminated parts of him, leaving others in shadow. But his eyes were lit up and they were on her.

For the first time in months, Elizabeth Weir and John Sheppard were alone.

He didn't even bother to ask if she was alright. Heart pounding, she kept her hand firmly against the wall, though she stopped it from groping blindly. Silently he tore his eyes away from her and looked back across the balcony. She felt indescribable sadness. She was petrified, not sad—

"Oh my God," Elizabeth said softly, her hand covering her mouth as she noticed the small tremors of fear racing down John's arms and his white knuckled grip on the railing. He turned around at the sound of her voice and confusion covered his face, "stop it!" she cried covering her head with her hands as their joined emotions shot all around her, forcing her knees to buckle.

"Dr. Wei—Elizabeth!" he said closing the distance between them and covering her hands with his own, "look at me. It's okay, breath in and out, push it to the back of your mind."

His voice echoed through the confusion and the tumultuous emotions eased a little, giving way to clearer thinking. As if someone was inside her head guiding her, she felt the mess untangle itself and push back, receding but staying close enough so she could feel it. She felt someone's hands on her own and looked up to see John, his hands covering hers, thumbs just barely touching the sides of her eyes.

"What just happened?" she asked slowly removing both their hands and getting to her feet. He followed the suit, both tucking their hands into their respective pockets.

"You let your guard down," he said slowly, "I haven't felt anything since right after Ronon's funeral."

"What is this—this is impossible," she shook her head.

"I don't think so," he said. She closed her eyes and threw up the barriers she used for diplomatic missions. They locked in place and instantly the connection was shut away, she was able to think once more. Opening her eyes she looked at John whose face had become unreadable.

"So is this an effect of when we connected?" she asked crossing her arms, "like you enhancements?"

"I don't know," he said, "we'll ask Carson tomorrow."

"Alright, good," she said nodding. Turning to face the door, she flipped the switch. The doors slid silently open, "don't stay out here too long."

"Wait," John said, his hand bouncing against the stone railing, "don't go—stay for a bit."

"I don't think that's such a good idea," she said turning around and crossing her arms.

"Why not?" he asked, "we used to come here all the time."

"We used to do a lot of things," she said shortly, "these past couple weeks—we can't—not now—"

"Then when?" he asked coming forward, "just because we never see each other in a non-professional way, doesn't mean I don't know what's been going on the past few months."

"You don't know the half of it," she muttered.

"Oh really Dr. Weir, because in case you forgot I am your equal rank-wise," he said, watching as she drew herself up, stacking barrier after barrier around herself, "and like it or not, we do have to work together."

"I never said we didn't," she shot back.

"Then say it," he said.

"Say what?" she asked.

"My name," he said, "if you haven't forgotten what it is—"

"I know what your name is!"

"Then why don't you say it!"

"You know damn well why!" she spat, fists clenching. He took a few deep breaths through his nose, his fists clenched at his sides. She turned and walked to the doors, hitting them to open with excessive force.

"Calling me John does not mean you're going to throw yourself into my arms and admit what we both know and feel," he said, switching his tone to a far more serious one, "I know that, believe me, but neither of us can take much more of this—and neither can Atlantis."

"No, what Atlantis cannot take much more of is death. Look at this from my perspective, I followed a team through the Gate, I got people killed, all so I could save you. What am I supposed to do? Wait for you to get caught again and throw myself through the Gate like some lovesick fool?"

"It's a thought," he said cocking his head to the side. She let out a heated breath and he walked to the doors, standing in front of her. Reaching behind her he hit the button, his fingertips brushing her sides. The doors slid open, "see you tomorrow Liz," he smirked and walked out, leaving Elizabeth standing there, her mouth opening and closing, her mind whirring as to whether she should smack him or ask Carson if there was a nickname for John.

Sighing she let the doors slide shut and walked to the balcony, leaning her forearms against the still warm stone. Looking out at the city, she let herself relax, closing her eyes and lifting her face to let the night breeze play with her hair. For the first time in a while, she felt at peace, as if there was still beauty and hope in the world. As if Atlantis was still a home. And though she didn't know it, John was leaning against the other side of the door, his eyes unfocused and grin playing on his lips, wondering why the world was suddenly such a happy place.

**Ahh! Shweir goodness, sorry. I just saw the spoilers for TLG and I won't spoil it but wow! **

**So yeah, plot bunnies. don't worry, the Satedan's are still coming. **

**For those that think/hope/wish Ronon was still alive, you're in for quite a shock. Oh another burning question to answer in the next chapter, what happened to the betting pool? (see Truly madly Deeply).**


	3. You were free, so alive

Sateda was a barren wasteland. He could hardly believe it, but when he stepped off his ship, he had to. Capital City, the bright beacon of civilization, lay neither bright nor civilized anymore. He had walked away from the guards his uncle insisted stay with him, claiming he could not defend himself. He hand been to tired to argue, and surprised even himself when he was able to get away so easily. Navigating from memory, he found his way to the town square and stopped.

Hesitated

Almost tentatively he walked into the wreckage. Buildings lay on either side, exposed to the elements. It had been almost a decade since anyone had seen them, ten years of loneliness, ten years of being forgotten and exposed to the elements. He felt sadness and rage burn through him in a white-hot streak. Clenching his fist, he turned around and slammed it into the glass before he could stop himself.

The dusty, stained material shattered obediently and bit deep into his knuckles, even through the gloves that were part of his formal garb. The pain felt so good it surprised even him. The pain shot up his forearm and left him feeling alive again. He pulled the glove off without care, more pain radiated down his arm, reaching up his shoulder. He hoped he would have some kind of mark on him, something he could explain if to no-one else than to himself.

He resumed walking, extracting the glass as he went. Not as much had gone into his hand and not as deeply as he had thought. As soon as the glass was gone, the skin on his knuckles pulled together and healed. Flexing his hand, he felt the new skin pull and nodded before pulling the glass out of the glove and replacing it. Looking up he frowned slightly in confusion. He was standing in some back alley, a few rotted lines were lying against the rubble, he guessed at some point they held cloths. Bending down, he looked for some clue as to why he would have come to a place he had never been.

"Your Highness!" a guard yelled coming up, "Your Highness, we must go."

"I hardly think the Wraith will attack again," he said softly, grimacing as a part of his upper back protested the movement.

"Your Highness, we need to get to Atlantis by noon fall and we have an hour's flight to the Portal."

"Stargate," he corrected automatically.

"Excuse me Your Highness?" the guard said frowning in confusion.

"Nothing," he said, "lets go."

"Follow me Your Highness," the guard said walking off.

**88**

Much like the rest of the Team, Teyla hated formal dress—no, she thought, she loathed it. Hate did not do it justice. The others were in their own quarters getting ready to great the Satedan Party. Elizabeth had spoken to a man claiming to be Regent Aron Dex. They had come up with an agreement that the Satedans could come to Atlantis and they would help them find a new home world. Teyla had agreed to harbor some as well on Athosia and was therefore required to appear as the leader of Athosia, and that meant formal wear.

Pulling on the first layer, a long under-dress of cool yellow silk that required no buttons or laces, she tried not to think of who Aron Dex was acting as Regent for. The few layers of underskirts brought thoughts of what, if it was him, he would look like dressed up. The final layer, a dress of deep wine red that draped around her like water, brought thoughts of why, if it was him, he had not contacted them before. Brushing the thoughts aside, she buttoned the back of the dress up, secured the waistband and pulled on the leather slippers that had been left with the dress.

In his own quarters, John wondered why the hell he was dressing up in this get-up for the second time in a week. The black and gold uniform was itchy, uncomfortable and garner far too many looks from the female population of Atlantis. Minus one, he thought trying not to focus on Elizabeth. Something that was easier said than done. He tugged at the neck of his shirt, trying in vain to loosen it and failing. He liked it better when the Air Force let him do whatever the hell he wanted, it was certainly more comfortable.

John and Teyla got to the office for the briefing at exactly the same time. Walking inside, John realized how well the team was put together for the first time. Rodney was pulling at his necktie and wearing a dark blue three piece suit that John doubted he picked out himself. Radek was in a similar state in black. Elizabeth was standing nearby and when she turned around John felt his jaw drop before he disguised it.

She was wearing a dress.

Not just any dress, but a formal one. It was not of red this time but of a deep green that seemed to have been taken from the forest. It was not low cut or risqué but made of silk that seemed to change slightly with the light. Draping from her shoulders, it was sleeveless and floor length. He knew her eyes were green but in the dress they seemed to be lit up. He saw her face show confusion. Hoping it wasn't him, he turned around and snorted before he could stop himself.

Standing in the doorway, dressed in 'formal wear' was Carson Beckett. Of course, for him, that meant formal Scottish wear. From the waist up he looked similar to the rest of them. From the waist down he looked—well, Scottish. He was wearing a kilt, a knee-length plaid garment with a pouch hanging down from his waist and boots. Thankfully he was not wearing a hat with a pom pom on it, because he imagined that Rodney and Radek would kill themselves laughing.

"Did Dr. Beckett loose his clothing?" Teyla asked John, "he appears to be wearing a woman's garment."

"Uh no," John said, "it's from where he's from. It's called a kilt."

"A kilt," Teyla repeated.

"Alright," Elizabeth said clasping her hands in front of her, "now remember, we know almost nothing about this Regent Aron Dex and the heir. It may be Ronon and it may not be him, either way, Regent Aron has told me this is both his and the heirs first visit to Atlantis. Let them make the first move."

"Are we to pretend we do not know them?" Teyla asked.

"In short, yes," Elizabeth said, "can you do that?" they nodded. Elizabeth nodded in response, brushed at the bodice of her dress. Everyone headed towards the Gate.

"You look nice Liz," he said keeping his eyes forward. He saw her jaw work to keep a smile off her face, but her eyes betrayed it. Finally she let her lips curve up in a small smile and self-consciously tucked a stray curl behind her ear before burying her hand in the folds of her dress.

"So do you," she said and looked down, "John," she added.

He felt himself smile and smothered it quickly, looking down to avoid looking at her. It was only then he noticed that she was toying with the green snowflake dangling from the silver chain wrapped around her wrist. Smiling despite himself, he watched the gate roar to life and two ships flew through.

They were like a combination of Darts and Puddle Jumpers, designed to fit through Stargates. Silver in color, each bore an insignia in deep gold just below the dark blue window that betrayed where the cock-pit was.

"I have a bad feeling," Radek said looking at the ships.

"That's because you had the fish," Rodney said not looking at him.

"Canadians," Radek muttered shaking his head.

"At least we speak English," Rodney hissed.

"I would hardly call what you speak English," Radek shot back.

Carson stepped in between the two of them and their banter stopped immediately.

"What's it like wearing a skirt?" Rodney asked, causing Radek to turn his laugh into a cough.

"More comfortable than the three piece suit your mother picked out," Carson said easily. Radek made a choked sound and Rodney looked, suddenly turning pale.

"I think I just got that bad feeling," Rodney said weakly.

"Did you have the fish?" Carson asked and followed his gaze and felt like he had been punched in the gut. He looked out of the corner of his eye and saw Teyla had her best diplomatic face on, her hands clasped in the folds of her skirt. He focused back on the group in front of the ships.

Ronon Dex was there….

And wearing the same expression they all had the first time they stepped into Atlantis.


	4. You were down you could see

"Regent Dex, welcome to Atlantis," Elizabeth said stepping forward and extending a hand.

Aron Dex was dark skinned and tall, built with the body of a warrior. But even so, he gave the appearance of something delicate, as if he had lived his entire life indoors. He was dressed in a white shirt with a neck reminiscent of a priests', black vest, black pants and black boots. Over it was a cloak of dark gold that matched the ear-ring in his right ear and the chain going around his middle. On his hands were soft brown gloves and on the left finger was a dark gold ring with a large black stone in the center.

He took Elizabeth's hand, bent at the waist and kissed it. John looked at Elizabeth but she seemed fine with the gesture and so he turned his eyes to the heir to the Satedan Throne: Ronon Dex.

Like the rest of them he looked extremely uncomfortable in his formal get up, unlike them he hid it very well. Dressed like his uncle, he wore no jewelry. He still had his dreadlocks and they were pulled back with a simple black band into the familiar pony-tail. Where his uncle wore dark gold, his was a deep tan, reminiscent of his old coat. His hands clasped loosely in front of him, he looked around Atlantis with barely masked surprise.

"Allow me to introduce my nephew, Prince Andronon Dex," Aron said with great flourish.

Ronon stepped forward and took Elizabeth's hand. Unlike his uncle, he simply gripped it gently. His uncle looked at him sternly but he paid no heed.

"It is a pleasure to meet you," he said, his voice sending chills up all their spines. Elizabeth let her surprise show for an instant before covering it.

"Allow me to introduce the other leaders of our expedition," she said motioning to the rest of them.

"John Sheppard, Brigadier General," John said extending a hand. He saw confusion flash across Ronon's face before he hid it, "name and rank," John added earning a stern look from Elizabeth.

"Dr. Rodney McCay," Rodney said shaking his hand as well. Radek followed the suit.

"Dr. Carson Beckett, Chief Medical Officer" Carson said, "I'd be happy to examine you all, sometimes people find the atmosphere of Atlantis does not agree with them," he lied easily.

"Is their reaction bad?" Aron asked, frowning slightly.

"Not if detected early," Carson responded, "I can start with you first if you like."

"No, start with the Prince, it would be a shame for him to miss the negotiations," Aron said and John silently cheered.

"Of course," Carson said, "and this is—"

"Teyal Emmagan," Teyla said stepping forward.

John looked at her carefully, appreciating for the first time how much work went into a leader's mask. His eyes flicked from her to Elizabeth who was watching their exchange as intently. Their eyes caught briefly before both looked back. Teyla had sunk into a curtsey, her eyes never leaving theirs. Aron lowered his eyes and bowed before he kissed the back of her hand. Ronon did the same, but his eyes never left hers, and when he let her hand go, both looked equally reluctant.

**88**

"Huh?"

The response was undignified and juvenile, but it was the only one John could come up with. Carson was standing in front of them, all still in their formal cloths. The Athosians had gone to get settled in their rooms after their 'check-ups' where some had been given tick-tacks as 'pills against the environmental sickness'. That one had them laughing for a good ten minuets until Carson had told them the worse news.

"He had memory loss, a good deal of it. Judging from the back of his head, I'd say he was hit hard during the explosion. It's wiped out almost ten years of his life," he said, "he does not remember being turned into a Wraith. But that's not the worse part."

"Oh good, because up til now I thought it was bad," Rodney said with an eye-roll.

"I don't think Ronon joined the military with his family's consent," Carson said, "in fact, I think they were against it. It seems his uncle has not told him anything. He believes he was hurt in the assassination that claimed his parents and civil war broke out, weakening the planet. He also believes that his uncle tried to re-unite the planet before the Wraith came. He woke up on one of the ships, with no further memory."

"How did the ship get him?" Elizabeth asked.

"Did you see those ships?" Radek said, "they have high maneuvering capabilities—I do not think it would be particularly hard to go in and grab something—or someone—with the right pilot."

"Are we sure it's him?" Rodney asked, "just—are we sure he doesn't have a twin?"

"He's got the same scars on his back," Carson said, "so yes."

"That explains why he did not contact us," Teyla murmured, then louder "Your Highness."

Standing in the doorway was Ronon. He was shifting his weight from foot to foot, obviously sorry for intruding. Elizabeth noticed no-one jumped up, some even looked at him like 'why are you late?' before realizing that he had no idea who they were. Elizabeth motioned him forward and he stepped inside, the door closing softly behind him.

"Can we help you, Your Highness?" Elizabeth asked rising.

"I wanted to thank you—and you," he added to Teyla, "for helping my people. It has been a long time since the Satedans had anywhere to call home."

"It is no trouble," Teyla said, "for any of us."

"Of course not," Elizabeth agreed.

Silence washed over them like a wave. There he was standing in the doorway, a complete stranger in more ways than one. There they were, knowing more about him than he apparently did about himself. The whole situation was so confusing that trying to untangle it made Elizabeth's head spin.

No, that was something else.

Her head was spinning, along with the rest of the room. Sitting down heavily, she cradled her head between her palms, trying to push the nausea away, while mentally trying to figure out why it was happening. In response, her head pounded, throbbing painfully with sharp twinges that brought tears to her eyes. Someone was talking to her, but when they touched her, the echoing in her head increased and she shoved them away, stumbling back, blinded by the light in her eyes. She couldn't breathe or think or exist without it increasing.

John saw Elizabeth pale. When she all but fell into the chair he was half on his feet. By the time she had shoved Rodney away, he was halfway across the room. Knowing she was going to hurt them or herself, he had shot behind her and grabbed her. She had moved so violently that they had actually fallen to the floor. He had one arm wrapped around her waist and the other around her shoulders, cradling her head. His heart pounding, he prayed she was alright.

Warm arms wrapped around her and she was pulled against a slightly itchy uniform. She struggled at first, causing them to fall back, but the person refused to let her go. Slowly the pain ebbed back a bit, but she still couldn't see or breathe well. She pulled back, realizing that was because her face was currently buried in the uniform of John Sheppard. The world spun again and this time was filled with a hollow, empty sense. With a soft moan, she buried her face in his uniform, her hands gripping his shirt as his arms tightened around her, assuring her that she was still whole.

"It's okay," John said, "you're safe."

"They're so loud," he heard her whisper roughly, "make them stop."

Then she went limp in his arms.

"Liz," he quietly gasped, turning her over and feeling for a pulse. He closed his eyes when he found one. Ronon quickly closed the doors and slid the blinds shut when it first happened and was standing at the door, making sure no-one was coming. Carson was next to them as John lowered her to the floor. He examined her as best he could before looking at John.

"She's unconscious. We should wait until she wakes up to take her to the infirmary. I don't think it's wise to carry her during this," he said. John nodded and picked her up. Laying her on the table, he shrugged out of his jacket and folded it under her head like a pillow. John brushed a piece of hair off her face, his fingertips brushing the side of her face gently.

Rodney noted the action and pursed his lips slightly. Radek saw his face and frowned, mentally calculating the odds on how much he should put on them this time or if Teyla and Ronon were a safer bet. He looked over and saw Teyla had closed the gap between herself and the door (and therefore Ronon) considerably. He had done the same so the two were standing close (but not too close) together. Radek went back to calculating.

Carson was thinking back to right before Elizabeth's passing out. His hand had brushed hers and he felt something pull free of him, but it was very subtle. He saw the guilt on John's face and felt anger flare before he could squash it. This had happened before. He grabbed John's shoulder, ending the 'moment'.

"What just happened John?" he asked, his tone informing him the statement was anything but a question and if John lied, Elizabeth would not be the only unconscious member of the room.


	5. And you wore hearts, for me

"It's an effect of the Wraith," John said, his voice low.

He and Carson had ducked off into a corner, to talk as privately as they could. When Elizabeth gave no indication of waking up anytime soon, Rodney had immediately torn his jacket, vest, tie and shirt off and was currently leaning against the wall in a dark blue t-shirt. They all had wasted no time in following the suit and most stood around in t-shirts, himself included. Ronon had worn a sleeveless shirt, like a lighter version of the one he used to wear, under his formal wear and Teyla had pulled off the petticoats and gown to reveal a simple but elegant dress of light yellow silk.

"What kind of an effect?" Carson asked, "from when the two of you Connected?"

"Yes," John said looking at Elizabeth, "we still are—Connected, I guess. I felt it right after the funeral but I thought it was just me. Then, right after the first contact with Regent Aron, she came onto a balcony terrified and I felt that. I felt what she was feeling," he trialed off, his eyes glazing over.

"John," Carson said firmly, brining him back to the present, "did it happen again?"

"No," he said, "she's good at her barriers," he added.

"I know things haven't been good between the two of you recently, is it because of this?" Carson asked gently.

"I don't know," John said truthfully, not caring to elaborate. Carson put a hand on his shoulder. John nodded his thanks before walking over to the table and sitting down, leaning his forearms on his knees and looking at Elizabeth's form, guilt written all over his features.

"Why does he look so upset? It wasn't his fault," Ronon asked looking at Teyla.

"General Sheppard feels he is responsible for Dr. Weir," Teyla said. Rodney snorted and Radek gave him a stern look. Teyla gave them both a look before turning back to Ronon, "he cares for Dr. Weir."

"He should, they lead together," Ronon said bluntly.

"He cares for her more than that," Teyla elaborated.

"He's in love with her," Rodney said leaning against the wall with a satisfied smirk on his face.

"Rodney," Radek hissed, "he's right there."

"Physically," Rodney said, "watch this, John!" John's head flew up, "see?"

"What?" he asked.

"Nothing," Rodney said, "go back to staring."

John nodded faintly and lapsed into silence. Radek let out a breath he didn't know he had been holding and relaxed against the wall. Being killed by the Chief Military Officer was not something he wanted to experience and his close vicinity to Rodney meant that he would be maimed at the very least. Again, not something he wanted to happen.

"You should be more considerate," he pointed out to Rodney.

"I'll be considerate when they've got the balls to correct me," Rodney snapped

"Both of you, this is neither considerate nor helpful," Teyla said.

Both nodded slowly, stunned into silence by the harshness in her voice. Teyla leaned against the wall, her eyes on the pair of them. Her mind wandered back to the fateful day when John Sheppard had unexpectedly beat her and then kissed her. It had been a possessive and heated kiss, something that had taken the strength from her legs and the breath from her lungs. And even as it was happening, she could her herself screaming that it should have been Ronon.

Then there was her first kiss with Ronon, one that had been to stun her more than possess her. But even as it happened, there was something amidst the desperation, as if shoving her through the gate and pulling apart was the hardest thing he ever had to do. She had seen it too, when he kissed the back of her hand and mouthed her name, his eyes never leaving hers, and her heart soared. For a blind instant she had thought his memories were there, before watching that hope burn once more.

When they told her he was dead (without ever actually using those words, she thought they used 'gone' instead), her heart hadn't broke as much as shattered, with all the pain in the world. She had run from the infirmary and everyone in her way, locking herself in her room and doubling over in pure agony. Then the sobs came, neither graceful nor quiet, they racked her entire frame, pulling at her soul.

She had stayed in her room for two days.

John told her they blocked off her bed. That meant only a select few knew she was hopelessly in love. Only Elizabeth knew about the kiss. In her darkest moment, she wished she never met the warrior, she wished she'd never heard of Sateda or him. Then she'd be whole again. She immediately regretted the thoughts and fled the room, running to the balcony, half in mind to throw herself off it. She rammed into the railing and held it tightly before collapsing into sobs one last time.

Then she slowly began to pick up the pieces of her shattered heart.

"So why did you come to Atlantis?" Ronon asked looking at her, "I never expected to see an Athosian here."

"My people are strong and proud, but Atlantis is the best hope for us all," Teyla said, realizing the familiarity of the situation. Ducking her head, she felt heat come to her cheeks and looked away slightly. Ronon nodded and shifted slightly so his back was re-settled against the wall. Carson stepped forward and sat down next to John, looking at him carefully and trying to pick the best way to phrase his words.

"Are you okay?" he asked finally.

"Am I okay?" John laughed bitterly, "I don't know, am I?"

"John," Carson sighed, "I know things between you and Elizabeth haven't been the best recently. Furthermore neither of you have been willing to talk about it—to anyone. We're all worried about you John, you and Elizabeth."

"I know," John said running a hand over his face, "I still don't understand why she did it."

"We both know that's not true lad," he said seriously.

John nodded with an audible sighed, his eyes fixing on Elizabeth again. She had shifted slightly so one arm was thrown across her waist, the other open-palmed by her face as if reaching for something. John closed his eyes slightly and looked down at his hands. Carson, realizing that the chances of getting a response out of him were slim, leaned back in his chair and stared off into space, trying to figure it out.

Carson, the doctor, had always been an observer. His ability to remove himself from a situation was one of the things he most prided himself on. But even he felt himself losing the ability in the desire to lock both Elizabeth and John in a room until they realized how stupid they were being. Elizabeth had become hard for lack of a better word. Not cruel, but not feeling either. It was as if she had given herself to each mission and suddenly there was nothing left to give.

It broke his heart, seeing two people he considered family fighting so hard against something that made so much sense.

But ever the observer, Carson knew there was nothing to be done. He looked over at Ronon and felt the twinge of a headache coming on. The blow to the back of his head was there, just as he said, but it wasn't as bad as it seemed. It was an ugly wound, to be sure, but he had seen much worse result in nothing more than a bad need for Tylenol. Shaking his head at how dramatic the situation had become he leaned further back in his chair and rested his head in his hands.

"Your Highness?" a voice called, "Your highness, it's Solen."

Ronon pulled open the door. Standing on the other side was a shorter man with light brown close-cropped hair and hazel eyes. He was dressed similarly to Ronon, but with a dark red cloak thrown over his shoulder. His face bore obvious signs of age and abuse. The edges of a tattoo were peaking out of the collar of his shirt.

"Solen," Ronon muttered pulling him inside. The two exchanged quiet words before Ronon nodded to them and departed. Teyla marched right up to him, threw him against the wall and pinned him with a knife she pulled from some concealed pocket.

"What are you doing here?" she spat, her grip on his throat tightening.

"Just let me down, I'll tell you anything you want to know," he said holding up his hands.

Teyla stepped back, lifting her arm. Solen dropped to his feet and straitened up. Neither of his hands went to his throat, he gave no indication of being threatened. John was strongly reminded of Ronon. His stance was almost the same, tall and proud while being laid back and easy going. Though it wasn't as strong as Ronon, he got the sense he was dealing with a fierce animal. No matter how nice it was and how much you thought it liked you, it could still turn around and rip your throat out.

"How do you two know each other?" John asked finally.

"We met on Belkan," Teyla sad.

"Specialist Solen Sincha," Solen said, "I served with Ronon during the Culling."

"You did? Then maybe you can tell us what the hells going on," Carson said.

"That I can," Solen said leaning back against the wall, "you first."

Teyla tapped her knife against her upper thigh, making sure Solen saw it. He sighed and ran a hand through his hair, trying to think about how he could explain the events of the past month and how much about the man he had sworn to die for he could reveal to these people. Solen looked around, from Teyla's face, (which was a dead give away that whole "We are friends nothing more" was total crap he thought privately), to the dark haired man standing over the woman on the table.

"What? I think I know more about him than you do," he scoffed.

"If you're referring to the Wraith fiasco, save it, we know," John said, "you do too, right?" he added.

"'Course I do," Solen said, "I was the one who shot the Wraith Queen."

**A/N:**

**Solen Sincha was a Satedan on Belkan, not an OC. He and Ronon served in the same military regiment, though I made up his rank since it's never mentioned. Okay, so new chappie soon and keep reviewing, as you can probably tell, I write faster when I know I have readers. **


	6. You were sharp, sharp as knives

'Elizabeth.'

Someone was calling her name. She couldn't hear them physically, but mentally they were really really loud. They also sounded an awful lot like Brigadier General John Sheppard—

'John,' the mental-voice said very loudly, 'just John.'

'This is not happening,' Elizabeth yelled mentally, 'get out of my head.'

'Fine!'

Suddenly the world was spinning again and when it stopped she was standing on the balcony. But it was like someone had turned the volume down. Everything was soft and washed in softer colors. The peace here was shocking and comforting at the same time, it wrapped around her like a blanket, like someone was telling her everything would be alright. Spread out in front of her, like a blanket, was the ocean around Atlantis, beautifully calm and barely whispering, only a light breeze blew through the air.

She looked down and saw she was in a dark green dress, the same one that she had been wearing—but different. The dark green had been lightened a bit, and transformed from the heavy silk to some impossibly light fabric that shimmered gently with the waning light. She felt the heat creep to the back of her neck as she realized the dress had been re-cut to follow the lines of her pale blue tank-top—and ended a good three inches above her knee. Mercifully she wasn't in high heels, but something closer to ballet flats.

Turning around, she face her red-handed mental-kidnapper. He was wearing dark grey pants and a deep sapphire shirt that went with his eyes. His hair was impossibly messy and his signature black wrist-band was firmly in place. Elizabeth averted her eyes slightly, she knew why he wore the band now and was still having a little trouble coming to terms with it. But realization at where they were forced them to lock with his, anger mixed with horror flying into them—or as much as she could muster, given their location.

"We're in your mind," she gasped softly.

"Yeah," he said, "Beckett's probably having a fit."

"So is this one of your pickup tricks?" she asked with raised eyebrows, "hey, wanna see my fantasy of you?"

"Trust me, my fantasy of you a little looks different," he said scratching the back of his neck and heating up her face, "and no, it's not."

"Right so why are we in your mind?" she said clapping her hands together and walking over to the balcony.

"You told me to get out and I couldn't very well leave you."

"So you brought me to your mind?" she demanded incredulously.

"Why not?" he shrugged, "not like there's anything new in here."

"Right," she said, feeling like she was about to give in, "so how to we get out?"

"I don't, this is my mind after all," he smirked.

"How do I get out?" she asked.

"No idea."

"John!"

"See there's my name—"

"Stop it!" the harshness in her tone surprised both of them equally. With daring that shocked them again she darted forward and grabbed his wristband. The black fabric flew off his wrist and into her hand and the pink scar was laid out for the word to see. She looked up to see his eyes rapidly closing off, though the scene stayed the same. She was breathing hard as if she had run a mile, feeling coldness creep up her back. She remembered—for lack of a better word—remembering it when they connected, the desperation and fear, the knife—but to see the scar shocked her deeply.

Suddenly it spun and they weren't standing in the dream world anymore but in her office and she was back her work cloths of a red t-shirt and black pants, the wristband back firmly in place on his wrist. He was wearing his normal cloths, black t-shirt and grey pants, as if he were in mourning. He was un-armed as was she, he was sitting in a chair, his feet crossed on her desk. She was leaning on the same desk, her arm beside his boot clad feet.

"See that's what I love, I get to put my feet on your desk."

"Why do you do that?" she asked, "if someone did that to me I would be furious and I would let them know it."

"I don't hit girls," he said crossing his arms behind his head and leaning back further.

"I am not a girl," she said before realizing how that sounded and buried her face in her hands, "I mean—I'm sorry," she said finally.

"Hey, you saw when it got there so, no harm done," he said easily.

"Then why are we in my office?" Elizabeth demanded, raising an eyebrow.

He raised his own in response the scene spun around until they were once again on the balcony with her in the dress and him in the sapphire shirt. She decided right there and then that she had to figure out if he really owned a shirt like that and to make sure he didn't wear it—she couldn't get through her day if he wore a shirt like that and all she could do was think about ripping it off him.

She heard his soft snort of laughter and felt herself blush. Not just on her neck this time, but on her face as well. Covering her face in her hands, she turned to the ocean and rested against the support on the balcony, her eyes falling downwards to the ocean. She felt him come to stand next to her, his hands placed gently on the railing. Looking over at him, she caught his eye and felt herself smile involuntarily.

"So am I always in these little daydreams of yours?" she teased slightly.

"Not always," he cleared his throat.

"Ah," she said, not sure why she was disappointed.

"There was half of one, but you kinda came in at the end," he added. She blushed furiously and looked down, "I don't think I've ever made you blush before."

"Do you always say what's on your mind?" she asked.

Both were silent for a minuet before they were helplessly laughing. It felt so good, better than either of them would admit. John could hardly remember the last time he laughed so hard, certainly not since his incident with the Wraith. When their laughter subsided, another shock greeted them as they had wound up with Elizabeth's arms around his shoulders and his around her waist.

**88**

Teyla Emmagan was a leader. Natural born, undeniable, her presence defied her height. So, why, standing in front of the archway leading to Ronon Dex's tomb did she feel so small? Teyla squared her shoulders, forcing herself to remember that helping how she felt was useless, she could only control her response to it. With that thought in mind, she walked through the archway, the few words scratched on a piece of paper clasped tightly in her hands like a weapon.

She was still wearing her dress of silk and the tomb was cold. Not just physically, but mentally the tomb felt like a gaping hole in Atlantis. Her slippered feet were silent as she walked onto the cold marble floor. The room was dome-shaped and made almost completely of glass. Because it was night-time, it was washed in deep blue, making even the warmth of her dresses color wane. The only light in the tomb came from the flame in the center of the room.

"Your Highne—" the remark was cut off by a rough palm clapped over her mouth, the sound echoing.

She found herself looking into the eyes of Solen Sincha, his features un-naturally calm, betraying the turmoil that she was sure he felt inside. Looking both ways, he took her upper arm in an iron grip and led her out of the room. They walked down the hall quickly and Teyla caught on that he did not want anyone to hear them.

"I am loyal only to Ronon," he said, his voice low and urgent, his hand slid down and she gripped, "so I tell you this because of that loyalty. Your doctor may have figured it out already, but I do not know."

"Know what?" Teyla asked, her eyes narrowing in confusion.

"You've met Regent Dex," Solen said, "you can see the evil in him. The bastard's been wanting to get the throne since the day he was born. The only thing standing between him and it is—"

"Ronon," Telya breathed.

"Yes," Solen said, "when I picked him up on that planet he was more dead than alive. He's still injured and still very weak, not able to fight. It's a miracle he can stay upright for more than ten minuets. He knows this, he's a warrior and he understands his body."

The roaring in Teyla's ears began to build as Solen's voice became lower and a good deal more urgent. Her heart pounded in her chest, threatening to come out of it, try as she might to force it back to hear Solen—but to no avail. It was getting hard to breath and she felt as if her legs were jelly. He saw her face and grabbed her shoulders, pushing her to the wall and pressing his face beside hers in a fake lovers embrace.

"He's in trouble," Solen whispered, "and he needs your help."

She felt something hard and flat being pressed into the upper back of her dress, just under her shoulder-blades. Solen pulled away with a small nod and vanished, leaving Teyla leaning heavily against the wall trying to catch her breath. Shoving back the heat coursing through her, she pushed herself away and headed towards her room on unsteady legs. Realizing curiosity would probably not let her get there, she threw herself through the nearest balcony and pulled the object out.

It was a letter.


	7. Shot down says you never had the chance

In his dreams, she was always there. A hundred different faces and hers was the one that stuck in his mind. It didn't matter, circumstances or time—whenever he closed his eyes it was like she was next to him. She was never particularly nice or delicate, always far more likely to hit him than kiss him, yet he could never really shake the feeling that they both were testing each other rather than hating each other. There was one dream where he found her standing on a balcony, though he knew they shouldn't be there. She was wearing a dress. He was surprised, it was layered and made of some kind of fabric that moved with the wind. Her head was high and proud, her light brown hair hung down her back. But her eyes were so lost it almost broke his heart, they were staring at the horizon desperately, looking for answers that he had a feeling no-one could give.

Though she was always in his dreams, the others were rarely as pleasant and he understood even less of them. People were dying, all around him, lights overhead and blurred voices urging him to run. Solen was beside him, yelling at him to get to a ship. He knew he couldn't do that and prayed Solen would understand. Then everything would go quiet. He would wake up in a cave, or a tree and he would run. Not stopping, not breathing, the sound of his feet on the dirt, stones or grass the only thing keeping him alive. On his heels a thousand monsters were ready to take him. Then the worst would come and the perspective would change and he would be perusing. He would see the person running go down and turn it over. It would always be Solen, her or some other half remembered face.

His waking state was not much better. By all accounts he should be dead. Simple as that, though according to Solen he was for all of three minuets—four times. Even with the best healers in Sateda working on him, he had been dead. According to his uncle he had slipped into a coma for almost ten years. Solen had said nothing to the contrary, but he never confirmed it either. Ten years was impossible for Ronon to believe, he knew his uncle was lying. The evidence to the contrary was just too compelling. For one, there were three scars on his back. Two could not possibly be more than a few years old, the third was so recent it was still purple. His injuries had left scars. They were mostly on wrapped from his left shoulder blade to his right hip, as if he had twisted away from a large amount of glass and metal. The scars were not even at the stage where they could be purple.

He was currently sitting on the bed in the room in Atlantis. Unknown to him, Carson had changed his originally planned room to the one he had stayed in during his initial stay in Atlantis, hoping it may jog his memory. Standing up, he crossed over to the window and looked out at the sea. Unable to take the closed spaces, he walked out, leaving his coat with it's sensors imprinted by his uncle lying on the chair. He walked, not really caring where his feet were taking him.

A few paces behind him Rodney tailed the giant warrior. He had been stepping out of the "love shack" as he privately dubbed the room, knowing that the image of John and Elizabeth spread out on the table would forever scar the room. When he saw Ronon brush by him, his eyes half-closed, he had naturally been his nosy self and followed him. Not to stop him, but to observe him. Maybe find something they could use to get him back so he could get regular "hell yes I'll take on John Sheppard and anyone else you can throw at me" Teyla back instead of this watered-down "peace and quiet and I'm going to hid in my room now and cry" version—and maybe win a few hundred dollars in the process.

Suddenly Rodney found himself slammed up against the wall, his toes dangling towards the ground. He looked up and found his wrists pinned, his neck untouched. Looking down he saw the very angry face of Ronon who looked more like he did when he came to them as Runner than when he left. Rodney swallowed thickly, trying to come up with some kind of lie and failed miserable. However, his eyes narrowed suddenly, just barely and he bit back a string of curses.

"Why do I think you're annoying?" Ronon asked finally.

"Is that supposed to be rhetorical?" Rodney choked out.

"No," Ronon snapped back, "I know I find you annoying, but I haven't spoken many words to you. Yet I know that you annoy me immensely. I do not judge people before I've known them properly, so why do I know this about you?"

"What about Gen. Sheppard?" Rodney demanded looking upwards, "why can no-one find him annoying, or Radek, he's annoying, or what about Te—"

Apparently insulting Teyla was off limits because the hand moved down to grip his throat. Rodney held his hands up in an apology as it got considerably harder to breath. Ronon let out something between a growl and a sigh before throwing Rodney to the ground and stalking off. Rodney leaned heavily against the wall, breathing hard and rubbed at his neck.

"I knew there was a reason he died," he muttered angrily pressing his neck.

He didn't see Teyla run down the hallway after Ronon. He heard his surprised cry as she did something and stood up in time to see Teyla slam Ronon to the ground and press her elbow to his neck. Rodney smiled widely and crossed his arms.

"You son of a bitch!" she spat and Rodney made a mental note to speak to John about the language he used around the aliens.

"Don't get any ideas," some random personnel said, "its lip action or nothing."

"I know the terms of the pool thank you very much," Rodney said crossing his arms and catching the attention of Solen, who was very much a betting man, "and it's a minimum of lip action, more is allowed."

"Frankly Doctor, I don't want to see more."

**88**

John and Elizabeth had separated predictably to other sides of the balcony and currently stood far apart, not speaking. John had opened and closed his mouth several times before finally scratching the back of his neck and leaning against the balcony. Unbeknownst to him, Elizabeth toyed with her hands awkwardly before finally laying them against the balcony and leaning against it. She closed her eyes and gripped the railing, trying to keep her emotions in check and not sure why, considering he knew her well enough to see how she was feeling.

"I hate this."

The words were so thick that she hardly understood them—much less recognized them as her own. She could feel his eyes on her and could only imagine the shock and suspicion written on his face. John was rooted to the spot at the sound of her voice, so choked with emotion. Swallowing, he tried to figure out how to respond and then cursed himself for not knowing that she wouldn't let him, at least, not yet.

"I hate how cold I've become, how I've had to go into complete lockdown to keep the city running. I hate the fact that even Rodney has noticed something's wrong with me—and I can't fix it! I can't just make it better, because if I do then Atlantis and all the people in it are going to fall and it will be my fault!"

In his heart John knew something akin to that was coming. Taking a deep breath, he opened his mouth and tried to phrase exactly how to tell Elizabeth how wrong she was—and more importantly why.

"You're wrong."

"I'm what?" she said, eyebrows raised.

"Okay maybe not the best way to start this—"

"John."

Her voice interrupted him, this time full of fear. She held up her hand and for a moment John thought she was flipping him off. But if she was (and he seriously doubted it), he couldn't tell because from the wrist up her hand was translucent, her fingertips already gone and her palm rapidly following it. He closed the distance between them and grabbed her wrist carefully. She flinched at the contact but he ignored it and turned her hand carefully, trying to figure out what was going on.

"Maybe you're going back to your mind," he said slowly.

"Maybe?" she asked, her voice wavering so slightly he almost missed it.

"Can you feel anything?' he asked touching her almost invisible palm. She shook her head, "can you feel this?" he asked running a finger up her rapidly disappearing forearm, still able to feel some solidity. She shook her head, eyes half-closed, "no? alright," he said running his hand up the back of her neck, "what about this?"

And he kissed her.

Elizabeth's mind went blank as a slate when John's lips came crashing down on hers. Her mind was wiped blank of pretty much any thought as his other hand came around her waist. When her lips responded to his, he pulled her closer. Involuntarily she gasped and he took advantage of that, taking her last remaining thoughts of doubt with him. Her still solid hand wrapped around his neck, holding him there. They broke apart more for need of air than anything else.

When her eyes opened, they opened for him alone. She laid her head carefully on his chest as the hand behind her head slid down to her upper shoulders. She looked down and saw the rest of her body had taken on a translucency. Closing her eyes, she leaned into the warmth of John's shirt and tried to calm her breathing. John tightened his arms around her as they slowly began to sway to invisible music. She felt her knees weaken as they began to ebb away, but John refused to let her go. She let out a cross between a whimper and a sigh as her eyelids began to get heavy.

"Shh, it's okay," John whispered closing his own eyes, "let go, you'll wake up back in your body. Safe, sound and ready to finish this."

When he opened them he was standing on the balcony alone. Taking a deep breath he fell back into his own body and opened his eyes. He was lying on the conference room table with a pounding headache and a deep desire to go to sleep. Radek was dozing on a chair, his head cradled in his hands. Carson was staring off into space. Elizabeth had her head to the side and her eyes closed. Elizabeth turned her head towards him and opened her eyes. Two things happened at once.

The first was they realized they weren't lying side by side but on top of each other, their hands tightly gripping each other.

The second was they started screaming.

Well Elizabeth screamed first, but John was right on her heels. Both stumbled off the table and threw themselves against opposite walls breathing hard. For the life of him, John couldn't figure out what had happened. He remembered falling unconscious and that was it. Elizabeth wasn't faring much better. Both suddenly realized how it felt to be Ronon.

Ronon, who was currently trying to defend himself against Teyla who was ready to kill him while Solen was getting in on the betting pool with Rodney. Carson buried his face in his hands and was completely lost. He wasn't really sure whether to start laughing or crying.


	8. Took a ride on a suicide romance

"What did you do!"

Solen was a military man and used to being yelled at. But he had never been yelled at by now General Steven Caldwell. The second Teyla had charged Ronon (and after Solen had gotten in on the betting pool) the General had marched right up to him and demanded an explanation as to why Teyla had done it. Solen realized he must have looked very guilty or happy—and it had been a dead give away. He had to at least respect the man for picking up on that, though it was hard, because Caldwell was all too happy to scream at someone and he was very good at it.

"I may have suggested that a new head trauma would reverse the effects of the previous one," Solen said slowly.

"That's bullshit," Caldwell countered, "Teyla is exceptionally in control, suggestions would not have her charging down the hall calling him a—" he looked at Rodney.

"Son of a Bitch," Rodney supplied, "though that may've been John's fault."

"A son of a bitch," Caldwell pressed on, "so I want to know exactly what you put in that letter."

"Well—"

"I don't believe it."

Both looked at Rondey and followed his stunned gaze. Ronon had Teyla pinned to the ground. He was crouched down, one hand wrapped around her throat. She seemed stunned but unhurt. He on the other hand looked far more animalistic than royal. In fact, he looked almost—

"Oh fuck," Rodney breathed out before he could stop himself, "Ronon," he said hurrying over, "Ronon—woah!"

Ronon pinned him with his free arm.

"Did I get these while I was here?" Ronon bit out pointing to his chest where red was staining his shirt.

"I really couldn't say," Rodney choked out, "until you let me go!"

Ronon growled but released him. He released Teyla before getting to his feet. Teyla and Rondey stood up slowly and looked at Ronon who had realized his blaster was not around his waist. He had also spotted Solen and was looking at him, obviously confused. Casting a quick look around to make sure Aron was not nearby, Solen started forward. Rodney looked from Teyla to Ronon and back again, opening and closing his mouth trying to figure out exactly how to put into words what he thought just happened. Teyla acted before either of them.

"Ronon—" Teyla approached him slowly.

"Why am I out of my rooms?" Ronon asked looking around, obviously troubled. Slowly she closed the distance between them and laid a hand on his arm. He stiffened for a moment and then relaxed. Teyla slid her hand down and wrapped it around his. Instantly his hand closed around hers.

"We have much to talk about," Teyla said, "come with me."

He nodded and followed her.

"Well," Solen said lamely, "it worked—in a way."

For one of the few times in their lives, both Rodney and Caldwell were speechless. The term 'knock some sense' had just taken on a completely new—and very unwelcome—meaning for them. Because Ronon had remembered a lot, but now instead of reserved-prince-Andronon Dex, they had gotten wild-and-animalistic-runner-Ronon Dex.

"Worked!" Rodney found his voice first, "she's taking him to his tomb, who knows what that's going to do to him!"

"He was right," Solen muttered, "you really are annoying."

"Thank you, no-one's ever told that to me before," Rodney said sarcastically.

"We should follow them," Caldwell said, "Lorne, do you read?"

Newly promoted Colonel Lorne stood outside the door of the control room, swearing mentally as to why he had to wear this formal gear when, as usual, he was in the background. His P-90 was secure in the arms room, no weapons. Lorne smirked, no visible weapons, he mentally corrected. Caldwell came over his earpiece.

"Yes sir?"

"Anastasia may have come home," Rodney blurted over the earpiece.

Caldwell shot him a questioning look before realizing there was a chance the Satedans were listening. He nodded to Rodney. Lorne, realizing the implications let out a breath and nodded.

"I'll make sure Dr. Weir and General Sheppard know," he said motioning for a marine to take his place, "will we be needing a celebratory ball sir?"

"Negative," Caldwell said smirking, "maybe just a party."

"Conference room sir?"

"That would be best," Caldwell responded.

Lorne nodded and jogged off to the conference room, praying that they had managed to wake up.

**88**

Teyla led Ronon down the hallway and down into his Tomb. She stepped back and let him enter the room and walk to the flame, reading the inscription around it. He bent down and traced the smaller words with rough, tentative fingertips. He turned and looked up at her, his eyes begging for an explanation. Teyla walked forward and sat down next to him. He sat slowly, careful of his wounds. Teyla looked at him and felt her breath catch. She pushed it back hard.

"You were in an accident," she said, "trying to save us."

"How long have I been here?" he asked meeting her gaze.

"Almost a year," she said softly, "before the accident."

"How long was I gone?"

"Close to two months."

He nodded carefully. His eyes narrowed.

"What's wrong?" he asked searching her face.

"Nothing," she brushed it off. He gave her a look that plainly said she was not getting off that easily. "I thought you died," she whispered, "and before you did you kissed me and—" she looked away, "and I never knew if it was to get me through the Stargate or if you wanted to—"

"To kiss you?" he finished.

She nodded. He looked down and then back at her. He leaned forward, giving her time to fight or leave. When she did neither he closed the distance and kissed her slowly, gently. She responded and he deepened the kiss. She was careful of his wounds but still managed to get closer.

"I would've kissed you in that Gods forsaken cave if I didn't think Sheppard was going to kill me," he growled when they broke apart.

"You thought John was going to kill you?" Teyla laughed. Ronon had a creative way of silencing her, one that she found all too agreeable.

When they broke apart Ronon looked at her carefully. Teyla looked at him and felt her breath catch because of the way he was looking at her. She felt her heart speed up even more and opened her mouth.

"Ronon?" she asked tentatively.

"I should have told you."

Teyla let go of the breath she didn't know she had been holding and looked at him. She smiled slightly and shook her head.

"You had your reasons," she responded slowly, "I am sure you would have, if time had permitted it," she pushed his face so he looked at her, "and you are here now. It is not too late to make things right."

"No," he said, "it is not," she realized he was laughing quietly and shot him a curious look, "I can't believe what you called me," he explained. She felt her cheeks flame and looked away. This time he forced her to look at him, "you'll have to explain the exact meaning of it to me later."

"Later?" she asked.

"Later," he said firmly, "I do not intend either of us to speak for a while," he elaborated.

"Oh really?" she asked raising her eyebrows. He nodded and wrapped a hand around the back of her neck, pulling her forward and closing the distance between them. Rodney sighed and shook his head, closing the door behind him. Sadly he turned around to see the triumphant face of Caldwell who extended his hand to collect the money he had won.

"Well I think we should go and tell Elizabeth," he remarked easily pocketing the money, "about Ronon being back of course."

"I liked him better as a Gaould," Rodney muttered.

"I heard that," Caldwell remarked.

"Sir!"

Caldwell spun around to see Lorne standing behind him. The two gave each other quick salutes before Lorne began to speak.

"Sir, I tried to speak to General Sheppard but he was otherwise engaged," he began. He stepped closer, "sir, one of the maintenance staff overheard Regent Dex speaking to some of the Satedan leaders and came to me. It would seem that the Satedans aren't here for our help in finding a new home world," he looked at Solen quickly, "sir, it appears they're here to take ours."

"Earth?" Caldwell asked frowning.

"I don't know sir," Lorne said, "so far they just want Atlantis."

"Sincha?" Caldwell demanded turning around, knowing the solider heard everything.

"It's true," Solen said quickly, seeing Caldwell's face, "Regent Dex does want Atlantis, but Regent Dex's intentions are very different from the rest of the Satedan people, myself and Ronon included. Please, you trusted Ronon once, can't you do it again?"

Caldwell closed his eyes and breathed in. For a second Solen thought he was going to be arrested or whatever they did.

"I'll trust him."

All eyes turned to Lorne who met their gaze squarely.

"I've worked with him. He's a good—" he paused for a second, "guy."

"As long as he doesn't choke me," Rodney said still rubbing his throat, "alright even if he does—occasionally."

"Get Ronon and Teyla, meet us in the conference room," Caldwell said, "McKay, go ahead and see if Dr. Weir and General Sheppard are alright. Find Dr. Zelenka and Dr. Beckett if they're not there. Don't tell them anything, they should here this from either Ronon or Solen. Lorne, go with Solen to get them. If you're stopped by anyone including Regent Dex tell them Dr. Beckett wants to go over the test results with Ronon and Solen—patient confidentiality forbids him to be present. Understood?"

"Yes sir," Lorne said.

"Going," Rodney said and walked off.

Caldwell and Lorne saluted each other before going off in separate directions. Caldwell ducked into a store room and pulled out his secure earpiece that hooked him up to the Daedalus directly.

"Daedalus, come in, this is Caldwell. Daedalus, do you copy?"

Nothing but silence returned his call.

A/N 

**New chap! Yay! Sorry for the delay. **

**A plea to all of you: do any of you know Lorne's real name? I tried to find it and to no avail. Please help! I'm trying to give him a bigger role in the story. **

**  
Thanks, new chapter soon (I mean it this time)**


	9. Coulda sworn there was somebody home

The night air was cold, as if the entire world knew that something had happened and was waiting to see what would follow. Out on the balcony, even the sea around Atlantis seemed to stall ever so slightly. On the balcony, stood a woman dressed in blood red and standing tall, as if it could save the world.

Elizabeth could have done the waiting, the running over a thousand possible scenarios in her mind. But considering the circumstances she felt it would be a bad idea to just do nothing. So, she pulled out the letter that Teyla had handed to her a few moments before and told her to read it before she came to the meeting. She turned over the well-made paper in her hands, biting her lip softly and thinking over what could be inside.

She frowned and held the paper up. At first glance it looked yellow but now, she could see the different fibers inside. Gold woven with white—it was a tapestry that she could hardly imagine human hands making. Elizabeth froze when she realized human hands didn't make it, or at least, no humans she knew. It was Satedan, no other explanation. If it was Satedan than it probably came from Ronon and judging by the visible signs of handling, it was old.

She was holding a letter from the dead Ronon. Shakily, she eased herself onto the bench and carefully pulled open the letter, sliding out a meticulously folded matching sheet of paper. Unfolding it, she looked at the elegant hand, knowing that if she had seen the letter a few months ago she would scarcely believe that it had been written by Ronon Dex.

_Dr. Weir,_

_If you are reading this then I must be gone. I know what you're planning to do, concerning Sheppard, and I doubt any of us will come back. I've probably sacrificed myself or done something equally foolish, all in the name of an emotion I've kept at bay for close to a year. Ironic, isn't it? Love for the people I cared for ended my first life, love for my planet ended my second, it seems rather fitting that my life come full circle before it ends again. _

_I would like to think you all mourned and moved on, that I'm nothing more than a passing thought every now and then, but I doubt that's the case—especially for you. Not that you cared more, but because you blame yourself. If I had to guess, I imagine you think that acting emotionally cost me my life and if you remove emotions (or at least bury them) then nothing will go wrong, or it won't hurt so much. It's the habit of a leader to bury their emotions, ttrust me, I know. I hope this letter gets to you in time, before you close the door on every possibility._

_Possibility? Don't give me that look. I know about wasted possi bilities, things I will not go into. I also know that the looks you exchange with John Sheppard are full of possibilities that neither of you will consider. As someone who has died three times for love, I tell you that life without it is not worth living, maybe that's why I didn't make it this time. _

_I hope that you'll go on to lead the city as I know you can. But, there is an enemy you may not see coming. Aron Dex. There is much I should have told you but the time is past for that. All you need to know is he is evil and will do whatever he can to ensure that he has a throne from which to rule 300 people without a home. One of them, Solen, is holding all the keys—he will help you, if only for fear of me coming back and haunting him._

_Please do not take my death as a reason to hide. If anything, take it as a reason to live._

_And tell Teyla I'm sorry._

_R.D._

Elizabeth didn't realize she was crying until the tears began to smudge the precious ink. Pushing the letter aside, she buried her face in her hands and wept, hot tears pouring down her hands. She was ashamed, at what she had become, at what she had failed to do, she had been a total fool and too scared to see it. She tried to stand up and found it impossible, all she could do was sit there and weep.

After what seemed like forever, she wiped the tears from her eyes and pulled out the second piece of paper. The one she had been carrying around with her for the past few days, the one that John had palmed her when he had given her the snowflake dangling around her neck. She opened it with hands that shook and looked at the words written on it in a messy too-familiar scrawl.

_Hey Liz,_

_I'm writing this on earth and debating whether or not you'll ever see it. Who knows? Maybe I'm writing it far more for me than for you. But if you are reading it, then something's happened. Given recent circumstances I don't think I'm dead, but even I can't predict the future. I'm not very good with letters, the last one I can remember writing was supposed to be my last words on earth—but you knew that already. It's so weird to think there's another person walking out there who knows everything I do. I hope one day we'll talk about it, but if we don't then just know that if there had to be someone out there knowing every last of my dirty secrets, I'm glad it's you._

_What we both know but won't say—_

_John._

_P.S. _

_Notice how it never snows here? _

"Hello Dr. Weir," came a calm, almost oily voice.

"Regent Dex," she said smoothly, turning to face Ronon's uncle.

He was dressed like a king, all in dark gold. Yet, even so, Elizabeth couldn't imagine him acting like one. The more she thought about it, the more Ronon's nature seemed fit to lead. Even so, the man in front of her was intimidating. She wished she was far away suddenly.

"Dr. Weir," he replied, just as formally, "I was wondering if you had seen my nephew."

"Unfortunately I have not," she said, slipping the letter into her dress, "but I do have a meeting to get to—" she faltered at the malice in his eyes when he sat down next to her.

"You lead your city very well Dr. Weir," he said, "I've noticed that. You've gotten people to respect you, despite obvious obstacles," he added looking down at her, his hand sliding up and tightening ever so slightly, "I admire that. Sateda is run by me, but someone like you could make a place there."

"Thank you," she said, "but I already have my place here."

"That place may not exist much longer," he said, his fingers tightening.

"Excuse me?" Elizabeth asked, keeping her voice neutral, "if you are threatening me—"

"No," Aron said, his lips curving up, "I would never dream of threatening you. Not with your watchdogs around. But this city, this city does not belong to the people of Earth. I suggest you go home before it's too late."

"I'll keep that in mind," Elizabeth said, moving to stand up.

Aron's hand streaked out and grabbed her wrist. White hot pain shot around his hand where it touched her wrist. He was a warrior and he didn't let go, simply locked eyes with her. Elizabeth choked on her words as the pain burned through her. She couldn't move her wrist this time, she tried to open her mouth but her jaw was locked.

"What's going on out here?"

John! Elizabeth could have kissed him. He was standing in the doorway, looking absolutely livid. He swapped his formal gear for more casual clothing, black t-shirt and blue pants, but he had never looked better to Elizabeth. His eyes went from Aron's impassive face to Elizabeth's terrified one before settling on his hand gripping her wrist.

"General Sheppard, we were just discussing matters," Aron said smiling.

"Really?" John said, his voice sounding anything but questionable, "Dr. Weir was late for our meeting and I was concerned."

"No need," Aron said, "I'm sure Dr. Weir will join you in due time," he smirked, "right now, however, we have much to discuss. Confidentially."

"Is there a problem out here?" Colonel Lorne asked, coming outside.

He was in an even worse mood than John, considering he lost a fair amount of money. He was in no mood to deal with anyone and especially not Aron Dex. John gave him and look and turned back to Aron who met their eyes squarely as if nothing was wrong. John did not share the sentiment.

"I understand," John said, his tone leaving no room for argument. "however, as co-commander of Atlantis I must speak to Dr. Weir immediately. Colonel Lorne would be happy to escort you back to your rooms and Dr. Weir will contact you as soon as we are finished."

Aron stood up and Elizabeth was forced to do the same. For a heart stopping moment, John was worried Lorne was going to shoot him but then the man let his hand fall. He smiled and bid all of them farewell before walking out. John grabbed Lorne and told him that a hawk was blind compared to how closely he was going to watch Aron. The two were gone, leaving John and Elizabeth alone on the balcony.

"Hey, are you okay?" John asked, concern evident in his voice.

Elizabeth looked at him. At John who still defended her and fought for her, who was glad that she was the one sharing his memories, who still saved her even though it was probably the last thing she deserved—and before she could stop herself she had thrown her arms around him and buried her face in his shoulder.

"It's okay, I've got you," John said, tightening his arms around her, at the moment she realized just how true those words were.


End file.
